


Nesting

by Everlind



Category: Tennis no Oujisama | Prince of Tennis
Genre: Kissing, M/M, Oshitari Yuushi - Freeform, Tamagotchis, groping and sex in random places
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-01
Updated: 2013-07-01
Packaged: 2017-12-16 18:49:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/865394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Everlind/pseuds/Everlind
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Not knowing what will happen is difficult. But Gakuto learns that it is possible to be happy without knowing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nesting

The boxes are heavy.  
  
His shoulders ache and his spine feels like its on fire starting at the base of his skull and ending just above his buttcrack. By the time all of the boxes are stacked inside, the sun is starting to set. From this high up the light slants in warm and reddish through the glass panes despite the gray weather, and the whole city is spread out before him.   
  
This is it.  
  
This is the view he'll see for the coming years, more days of rain-packed clouds tinged with sunbursts at its far edge, but also days of stormy darkness, thick flakes of snow, and clear, sun-filled skies.  
  
Gakuto stands before the large sliding door and breathes in. For a few minutes he stands there, still as ice, as he tries to wrap his mind around this vastly new chapter in his life.  
  
Arms slide around his shoulders from behind.  
  
Warm.  
  
Why is Shishido always so impossibly warm?  
  
"Alright?" Shishido asks, resting his chin on top of Gakuto's head.  
  
Breathing in deep, Gakuto tries again. This place,  _their_  place, is on the highest floor of the building and just under the roof -because that's what he always wanted- is his new reality. He's barely twenty-three and now he's  _finally_  free.  
  
He leans back into the embrace.  
  
"Alright," he answers.  
  


+++

  
  
His mother calls the very next morning.  
  
Gakuto is standing in the middle of a sea of junk: a jumble of comic books, lightsabers and tennis balls. So damn many tennis balls that he wonders whether Shishido's become so obsessed with the sport he's started shitting them. He nearly breaks his neck trying to reach the cordless from around the mess.  
  
"Moshi moshi?" he manages, wincing as something gives a loud crack from under his right heel. "Ah, okaa-san."  
  
"Gakuto-chan," she says, sounding too bright as she attempts to cover up the undercurrent of unease in her voice . "How was the first night there?"  
  
"Uuuh ..." Gakuto scratches his nose. Can hardly say that he didn't get much sleep and all, not with Shishido over and behind and inside of him, warm, so damn warm, not when his parents think they're just ... roommates. Uh-huh. "It was okay," he mutters instead.  _Honesly, okaa-sann what a question_ , he groans mentally. Geez.  
  
"That's ... that's good," she answers.  
  
 _Yeah, it really was_ , Gakuto adds to himself and smiles. Waits for more.  
  
"So ..."  
  
"So," he prompts.   
  
There's a rustle at the other side of the phone, a clack of metal in porcelain. She's in the kitchen. "Well," his mother says, measured yet stunted in its suddenness, "well, you know that couch of yours? Your- your father wants you to come and get it now."  
  
Still.  
  
Fuck.  _Still_.  
  
He shivers. This was supposed to be over and done with. He rubs his arms.  
  
"Yes, I know," he answers and in his voice is the same false cheeriness, "but I asked if I could leave it until Wednesday, remember? We need someone with a car that can fit-"  
  
"Today, sweetheart," his mother interrupts. "Or he'll ... get rid of it." The last is a small slip, a crack in the fake, everything-is-normal-and-happy facade.  
  
"But I can't," Gakuto repeats, a little desperately. "Remember? I don't have a car! I can't-can't  _carry_  it all the way over here."  
  
There's a silence. More repetitive clinking noises, something is being stirred with soothing methodicalness. "Okay," she goes after a moment. "It's just a couch. You can buy a new one, right?"  
  
Damn it.  
  
With his free arm, he hugs himself. No, he can't. Not like that one. Not one where one evening he sat squished in next to his childhood friend, a one-seat couch holding two scrawny teenagers, and finally got to kiss the one person who's single-handedly been more of a damn family to him than his own.  
  
Who  _is_  his family now.  
  
"Can you ..." he pulls at his hair. "Can you ask him to wait a little longer? I'll be there right away."  
  
More silence. The stirring has stopped. Around the phone, his fingers are icy.  
  
"I'll ask."  
  


+++

  
  
In the end it is Hiyoshi who comes through.  
  
The only one who is not trapped in a lecture and has a job he can freely leave when it's really necessary. After all, his brother was raised at the dojo, too, and while not having made it his life, knows enough to keep an eye on the class for a moment.  
  
Of course, that does not mean Hiyoshi won't rub his face into it.  
  
"I was teaching classes, Mukahi-san," he says disapprovingly.  
  
Gakuto pushes away from the wall where he was waiting, teeth clacking. He hates autumn and he forgot his scarf on top of it.  
  
"Sorry, alright?" he bites out.  
  
Hiyoshi just looks at him. Still the same, but taller, arms, legs and body corded with lean muscle, his eyes calmer. He wanted singles one and got it, twice, used it to pull the team into the quarter-nationals twice.  
  
"Where is this couch?" Hiyoshi asks instead.  
  
It's already outside on the sidewalk, getting drizzled on by the rain, while his father prepares the van to whisk it off to wherever he's planning to dump it. When he sees the two of them approaching he slams the door shut and leans against it.  
  
"Took you long enough," he tells him. He smiles, nods at Hiyoshi, who nods back -a jerk of chin.  
  
Gakuto looks at a crack in the sidewalk. Moss is caked into it, brown and dead. His hair hangs in limp clumps. "Sorry," he says.  
  
"Well, then, take the piece of junk away," he goes on, motioning jovially. "Most ugly damn thing in existence. Couldn't have it sitting around."  
  
"No, I- uh. No, of course," Gakuto mutters, circles it. Sitting outside like this, it looks what it is: huge and cumbersome. Hiyoshi raises an eyebrow. They both crouch and feel under the bottom, searching for a grip. They lift it. It's damp and heavy.  
  
There's a bark of a laugh, "You're going to  _carry_  it?"  
  
Gakuto grits his teeth. His father, whose van is large and roomy for carrying large electronic appliances and would hold the couch with room to spare, watches them struggle. He doesn't ask. His father doesn't offer. He leans against it, lounging, with a sardonic little smile around his lips as he watches them grapple with it. Watching  _him_  wince and flush, not as strong as Hiyoshi the martial-arts instructor, watching him nearly loose his hold.   
  
He watches and Gakuto seethes inside, doesn't look back when he and Hiyoshi lug it down the street, in the rain that starts to pour, and out of sight.   
  


+++

  
  
He's in bath when Shishido comes home, much, much later than he usually does.  
  
"I'm back," he yells.  
  
Gakuto draws up his legs until his knees poke through the surface and rests his chin on them. The water seems lukewarmish, though the steam rises off it thickly, and his skin is slowly taking on the color of a lobster. There's a hank of hair before his left eye, red and twisted, like how his insides feel.  
  
Before long Shishido pokes his head around the door of the bathroom. "Why is your couch in the middle of kitchen and soaked through?" He cocks and eyebrow, frowns at him.  
  
It's where he and Hiyoshi left it. The kitchen had tiles, at least, while the rest is wooden panelling and tatami mats and he'd had at least enough presence of mind to figure leaving a wet couch to puddle on them was a bad plan. Tiles can be mopped clean, at least. End of story.  
  
"I thought we were supposed to pick it up on Wednesday. I asked aniki and all." He's taking off his socks and stepping onto the shower-wet tiles of the bathroom. "Gakuto?"   
  
Tipping his head forward, he shrugs. "He was gonna throw it away."  
  
He doesn't need to clarify who 'he' is. Crouching next to the tub Shishido crosses his arms over the edge, fingers dangling into the water. He looks at Gakuto, thoughtful. Gakuto is pretty sure he hasn't got a clue why Gakuto is as attached to the thing the way he is, probably wouldn't  _get_  it, either. It's stupid, he knows, but Yuushi would understand, being the great big sap he is. Maybe all those years of playing doubles with him have left their marks and now he's sentimental about a  _couch_.  
  
"Hey," Shishido says.  
  
Gakuto looks at him. Gets kissed. Soft and steady and  _there_ , warmer than the scorching water.  
  
"Why are you so late?" he mumbles. He's being sullen and childish, but his whole body aches from lugging the couch and everything is new and unsure. He needs to be loose and free and yet secure and he can't remember how he usually merges those opposites.  
  
Shishido kisses his cheek and then the corner of his mouth. "I thought you'd like something to celebrate. So I got us champagne."   
  
"Can we afford that?" he asks.  
  
No answer. Shishido is taking his clothes off. Gakuto watches.   
  
His throat goes thick and dry and it's almost too much to watch, the surge of emotion inside of him at the sight of Shishido naked, heavy and violent, so much that he almost has to look away.   
  
Yet he doesn't and stares instead, as Shishido gets into bath with him, at the slender thighs before his nose and higher, the dusky area of his crotch and ah-hah, it's about to get interesting.  
  
Underwater, their fingers lace.   
  
There's a murmur against his jaw, "I thought of a better way to celebrate."   
  
Not long after, with strong hands greedy on his hips -secure- and the water sloshing around his middle as he moves -free-, he remembers.  
  


+++

  
  
The first week passes in a daze, because Shishido has made it his mission to 'christen' every single area of the apartment. As there are only four rooms -out of which they've already had sex in two-, they have made the complete rounds after only three days of living together. Not that this stops Shishido.  
  
It is a week spent feeling like he's glowing with an inner fire that his boyfriend steadily pours into him with every single touch, kiss, trust of his hips ... until he's ablaze.  
  
For a while, Gakuto supposes, they are caught in what Oshitari calls 'the honeymoon-phase'.  
  
After two weeks of that, the first hang-ups pop up.  
  
It is one thing to 'date' (translation = hang out, play games, eat junk food and have sex in any possible combination and order), but it is quite another to live together.  
  
They don't balance one another. They both are rather impatient, chaotic and unorganized. Not to mention that they both have short fuses and are likely to take offense even where none is intended. Neither of them likes ironing or household chores in general and after a week there's a huge pile of clean clothing, but none of it in any state to wear and Gakuto doesn't even know where to start doing the rest ... of everything.  
  
So they clash and don't quite manage to cover one other's poorer bases and Gakuto feels it again, the cold, even though he's not home. Well he is, now. Or he's supposed to be.  
  
Worst of all is that Shishido  _tries_.  
  
Hard.  
  
He doesn't do things by halves, doesn't know how to.  
  
So he tries in the evenings, getting worked up when whatever he's trying to put to rights isn't working out, or getting worse instead. Often he gets riled or has to leave it half-finished, because he'll need to work on an article, or gather info so he can start on one.  
  
And Gakuto will feel frustrated because the mess is just as big as before and he can't call Shishido on it because he tried and he's the one who works the longest hours and ... pays. For almost everything.  
  
It's the small things.  
  
He doesn't know why it all bothers him as much as it does. It's been barely three weeks. Is he always going to feel this unhinged; is nothing ever going to perfect?  
  


+++

  
  
"Nothing's ever perfect," Oshitari tells him.  
  
Gakuto sits on the small table, pouts. "Don't eat that, you idiot. Ryou's gonna kick your ass."  
  
Oshitari turns, blinks. The bowl he's holding is empty, his mouth full. "Should I-"   
  
" _Ew_ , don't spit it back out! Do you  _want_  him to kill you?"  
  
There's a thick swallow as the noodles go down his throat and into the bottomless pit that is Oshitari's stomach. The bowl is dunked into the sink full of hot water, where Oshitari is soaking the week's worth of dirty dishes before attempting to wash them.  
  
"Listen," Oshitari tells him. "Just relax, this is normal. The both of you are still trying to find a rhythm together."  
  
Gakuto sighs, looks out the window. The sky is clear and wide. If it wasn't for the endless rain, he'd throw the windows wide, breathe in. Fly.   
  
Bowls and pans chink. Oshitari is tall, dark and handsome. Familiar.  
  
"Besides," he adds after a pointed silence from Gakuto's side. "I get the impression this is only you who feels like this."  
  
"Ryou gets pissed, too." Gakuto interjects quickly.   
  
Oshitari chuckles. "Ryou gets pissed all the time. He gets pissed when people block the sidewalk, he gets pissed when they play a song on the radio he hates, he gets pissed when I call him more than thrice a day." He glances over his shoulder. "It's  _you_ , Gakuto."  
  
That, of course, the finger jabbing at the sore spot, has Gakuto on his feet in an instant, angry. "What, so it's all  _my fault_  if this doesn't work out?!" he voice wobbles on the second to last word, like a frightened child.  
  
Demonstratively, Oshitari puts a clean spatula aside. Dries his hands. Turns, slowly, and leans against the counter, arms crossed. Raises an eyebrow. "Who said anything about it not working out?"  
  
"I-" Gakuto starts, mouths air, deflates.  
  
A warm hand lands on his shoulder. "Gakuto. This works. Or neither of you would have been here. Stop being so afraid and start living."  
  
Gakuto looks at him, wordless.  
  
"It works," Oshitari stresses. "The two of you  _work_."  
  
Later, when Oshitari is gone and Gakuto is dirtying the freshly washed dishes as he attempts to cook something according to a recipe he yanked of the internet, he thinks about it.  
  
Five years is a pretty decent amount of time to have been together.  
  
They've had plenty of fights, plenty of rough spots. But the good outweighs the bad by far. When he thinks about Shishido, just him, Gakuto  _has_  to smile, feels warm, sweet-hot heat in his belly. So many good moments, most of which don't even have anything to do with sex, but with  _them_  and how they work together.  
  
They don't balance, or fill in the shortcomings of the other. Instead they enrich what is there. If Shishido was fire then Gakuto would be the air that fans it into a magnificent roar. In his stead Shishido would warm him, heat him up until he seems to disintegrate and spread, but he's becoming more himself and he floats higher and higher thanks to him, until he does fly without wings.  
  
It's true.  
  
He's frightened.  
  
Shishido ... means everything to him.  
  
So much can go wrong. And yes, everything is going right, it is.   
  
But Gakuto burns the food, drops a bowl and then burns himself. Stands looking at the mess asking himself if this is all he'll ever have to offer.  
  


+++

  
  
The bar is full of morose salary men tonight.  
  
Gakuto wipes glasses and mixes up drinks. The stiff fabric of his collar sits at his throat.  
  
"So how did it go?"   
  
Gakuto puts aside a glass, shakes the tendrils of hair clear from his face.   
  
"Got everything unpacked yet?" Taki adds.  
  
"Hah!" he snorts. "Hardly. How long did it take you to move into your new place?"  
  
"Touch√©," Taki nods. He fiddles with the end of his braid. Rather ironic that after nearly ten years Shishido is still the one with short hair, whereas Taki's is longer than Shishido's had ever been. Long enough the braid drapes over his shoulder and the tassel dangles against his heart.  
  
It's a Friday. Most caf√©s will be packed. The one where Gakuto works is actually too fancy and too expensive to draw extremely large crowds, but it lures in these types. Filthy rich men and women, most of them run ragged by responsibilities but have success and a landslide of materialistic wealth to show for it.  
  
Most of them are here alone. Some will leave together, later. Gakuto and Taki make it a sport to guess who'll go with whom. The combinations can be seriously surprising (as well as disturbing), at times.  
  
And it's nice to have Taki here. Recently he's become very well off himself. A famous fashion photographer. His camera bag sits huge and heavy behind the bar, where Gakuto keeps it for him. Taki doesn't stop by all days, but he's single and lonely, Gakuto supposes, all alone in his huge apartment.  
  
"But it was only me," Taki points out, without rancor, drawing Gakuto back to their conversation. "There's stuff from the both of you, now."  
  
Gakuto thinks about the towers and towers of carton boxes he needs to unpack. He thinks about the living room that needs to be painted, about the DVD-player that's decided to belly up, about the phone call he needs to make about the water supply.  
  
There's all that.  
  
"Yeah, but you forget that your wardrobe has more crap than everything the both of us own," Gakuto says, as he deftly mixes up a drink for a office lady with scarlet painted lips. "Together."  
  
Taki rolls his eyes, but doesn't deny it. After all, he's the one who owns fourteen different colors of the same sequined belly shirt.  
  
"Is he driving you insane yet?" Taki suddenly asks. "I bet Shishido is horrible to live with. I bet he's a horrible slob. I bet he's managed to destroy something already. He so has, hasn't he?"  
  
"Hey, don't talk about him like that!" Gakuto feels obliged to say. Even though Shishido accidentally ripped the curtains down (and the curtain rail and a piece of wallpaper) yesterday, because he tripped over a Wii remote (which is ruined as well). "And I like it. Living together. With Ryou. At least I don't live together with a rabbit for company!"  
  
"Usagi-san is house trained," Taki says with great dignity. "Can you say that about- OUCH! No pinching, bitch!"  
  
Gakuto smirks. "I bet Usagi-san doesn't give you blow-joooaaaah. Good evening, what will you have, sir?" He coughs, flashes his most professional smile.  
  
Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Taki hide a smile.  
  
When the man leaves with his beverage, Gakuto chucks his chin at a woman with bottle-blonde hair in a corner. "They'll be hooking up before midnight. Her skirt is hitching higher and higher the more time passes."  
  
Taki plays with the end of his braid. "I think I've seen those two together before. She must've come back for more."  
  
Gakuto wonders why. The guy has bad breath and a flabby ass. Maybe he's good where it matters, though. He's grateful to have a steady partner. A steady partner that is good-looking at that. A steady partner that is Shishido Ryou.  
  
"Talking about coming back ..." Taki says suddenly.  
  
Gakuto looks at him, sharply. There's something about the tone of his voice that sends his alarm bells a-tingling.  
  
Taki plays with his straw, looks at him from under his lashes.  
  
"Choutarou is coming back," he says. Reasonably.  
  
There's nothing reasonable about that, Gakuto thinks. He drops a slice of lemon. It lands with a deadpan splat on the floor.  
  
"Fuck it," he hisses.  
  


+++

  
  
It's past midnight when he gets back.  
  
Shishido isn't thoughtful enough to leave a light on so Gakuto nearly breaks his neck over -who'd have thought?- a carton box. Then he knocks into a stack of carton boxes, which sends them swaying precariously. At last, he walks into a sheer wall of carton boxes, endless and towering, and somehow makes it into their bedroom.  
  
The room is dark, Shishido is asleep.  
  
Gakuto changes into his pajamas and crawls shivering into bed.  
  
It seems that Shishido is finally going to let him catch up on sleep. There's no sneaking hot hands, no moist mouth on his jaw. He's not being undressed, slowly and carefully, nor is there a hand between his legs, rubbing.  
  
Shishido is warm, though.  
  
Gakuto tucks up to him, putting his head on the same pillow. Their exhales mingle. Gakuto kisses his parted lips, nuzzles. He smells nice, too. Every doubt and worry he's entertained, melts. When he's this close to him, close enough that he wrap himself in the smell him, he knows that everything is okay.  
  
Especially when, unprompted and still sleeping, Shishido's arm wraps around him, hitches him closer.  
  
He burrows into his body, holds him back.  
  
Sleeps.  
  


+++

  
  
"Ryou."  
  
"Hm?"  
  
They're finally painting the living room. Again. Second time this week. Waste of money, but what will you do about it? Both of them picked out the same red in the shop. It looked awesome. For about five hours. Then Gakuto developed a headache and Shishido took to wearing sunglasses. They went back the next day.  
  
The second coat of white takes care of the red shining through the first, which made everything pink. Which was worse than the red. Cause, you know, pink is for girls. They might be, ahem, into boys, but that kind of gay (the kind of gay where the walls are pink) is more up Taki's ally. Speaking of which...  
  
"Should we get a rabbit?"  
  
Shishido stops rolling. Looks at him. There's paint in his hair and paint on his cheek. Actually, there's paint everywhere on him. Gakuto wonders how he does it.  
  
"A rabbit." Shishido repeats.  
  
"Yeah," Gakuto goes, nodding. "A pet."  
  
"I'd rather have a dog," Shishido says.  
  
"You don't have time for a dog, smart-ass," Gakuto says. "And I'm not walking it."  
  
Bending down to get more paint on his roller, Shishido mutters. "Why a rabbit?"  
  
Gakuto isn't really sure himself. He's seen Usagi-san, fluffy and pure white, like a puff of cotton. Plus they're kinda cute. Don't require the walking and attention a dog needs, and seem gentler than a cat. Birds are of the question. Cages make him feel ill.  
  
"Isn't it something you do?" Gakuto wonders out loud. "Buy a pet? Take care of something together?"  
  
Shishido puts down the roller. Leans against the freshly painted wall, before remembering. He pulls back with a sticky rip, messing up the paint. His arm is white. His eyes are steady. Then he smirks. "Is your nurturing side playing up?"  
  
"M-my what?"  
  
"You know," Shishido says. "Mothering instinct."  
  
Gakuto tosses him a nasty look. "I'll mother you, you moron."  
  
"Oh yes, mother me hard," Shishido chuckles. "Mother me all night long."  
  
"You're being ridiculous," Gakuto says. "I'm ignoring you now."  
  
"Alright," Shishido says agreeably. "Peace and quiet. At last."  
  
"Shut up!" he grumbles, but half-smiles, too.  
  
They manage to finish the wall without Shishido accidentally bumping, leaning or touching it. One down. Three to go.  
  
"I can get you a Tamagotchi," Shishido says, suddenly.  
  
Gakuto smiles a sharp smile. "Yeah. The one you had back in grade school?"  
  
Shishido trips over a newspaper. Blinks.  
  
"Oh yeah, I know you still got it." Gakuto goes on. "I was unpacking some of your stuff earlier. Cute, that dinosaur. Surprising it still worked. I'd have figured the batteries would've run out by now ... unless they've been recently changed."  
  
A scowl. Extra vigorous rolling.   
  
Gakuto laughs.  
  
Shishido throws the roller at him.  
  
Hits the freshly painted, perfect wall.  
  
Gakuto makes him paint it over.   
  
  
Alone.  
  


+++

  
  
Living alone is strange.  
  
Gakuto and Shishido need to somehow keep track of what is eaten and needs to be replaced, stuff they need to get from the store.  
  
Their first idea was to put the empty packages of everything they used aside. Not only did it make for a fantastic heap of garbage with a nice smell to accompany it, but it was always too much to remember when you actually were standing in the aisles staring at row upon row of products. Taking the empty packages along isn't an option.  
  
Shishido figures it out first. A note-block and a pen magneted to the fridge.  
  
"Jiroh says we're gonna starve before the year is out," he tells him. Apparently the 'brilliant' plan didn't come from him. "He also asked if we licked the plates clean before putting them back in the cupboards."  
  
Gakuto scrunches up his nose. "What does he think we are, savages?"  
  
"Seems like," he grumbles.  
  
Gakuto shakes his head.   
  
They are managing just fine. Gakuto knows enough about electronics to have repaired the DVD-player and the guys from the water supply were by to check earlier.  
  
Shishido fixed the curtains.  
  
Gakuto suspects there was duct-tape involved, but as long as it doesn't show it doesn't matter.   
  
And the Tamagotchi is still alive.  
  
The plant Hiyoshi got them, for that matter, is not. They don't realize it needs water until it is too late and they wake up one morning to see the sad, brown, wilted thing flopped over the edge of its pot. Leaves strew the floor.  
  
"I think it's dead," is Shishido's professional opinion on the matter. "No water."  
  
"I thought you were giving it water," Gakuto says.  
  
"I thought you were," Shishido counters.  
  
They toss out the dirt and use it as a giant candy bowl instead. It sits in the middle of the coffee table, huge and obstructing the view of the TV from certain angles. But it holds a lot of candy. About six bags. Hiyoshi took one look at it and shook his head a little.  
  
After the tenth load of laundry turns baby-blue and Shishido throws a major tantrum, Gakuto concedes that maybe they need to separate the whites from the darks and colors.  
  
And after eating just about everything and anything deep-fried for about four weeks, Shishido actually violently demands him to vacate the kitchen because he'll be cooking from now on. When he takes out the vegetables from the fridge, Gakuto thinks he's gone mad. Years of being bullied into eating the nasty green stuff and now his best friend and the person he's always trusted betrays him like this.  
  
Great is his surprise when after three vegetable-rich dinners the mysterious stomach ache he's been suffering, disappears.  
  
And the food is pretty good, too.  
  
  
Oshitari was right.  
  
It's not perfect.  
  
But it works.  
  


+++

  
  
"What," Shishido says. "The fuck."  
  
"I can explain." Gakuto says. Only he knows he doesn't sound very convinced, himself.  
  
"Enlighten me, then?" Shishido asks, his eyebrow hitching. "What is this ... stuff. That is all over the countertop. And floor. And you."  
  
"Some sort of pudding ... thing," Gakuto ventures.  
  
"It's  _food_?" A skeptical glance. Then, avoiding all the sticky dollops on the floor, he tiptoes over. Catching his chin he licks Gakuto's cheek, broad and wet. "Huh."  
  
"I wanted to make dessert." Gakuto mutters, rubbing the wet stripe with the back of his hand. It was coming along nicely, steaming and vanilla-smelling, but then it started popping huge bubbles, which splattered over the edge of the pot, boiling hot.   
  
"You should've turned down the heat," Shishido says.  
  
"No? Reaaaaally?" Gakuto bites back at him. "I never would've guessed."  
  
All that gets is an eyebrow raise. "But you didn't," Shishido points out.  
  
"I was trying not to get burned, you ass!" Gakuto snaps.  
  
Shishido rolls his eyes, but starts tugging Gakuto's shirt up.  
  
"What?" he demands, but the word gets lost as the fabric rolls over his face.   
  
The flat of Shishido's tongue laves over his collarbone. Every hair on Gakuto's body stands at attention. Other things make motions to do so, too.  
  
"Just doing what Jiroh thinks we do," Shishido mumbles indistinctly against his chest.  
  
"What?" Gakuto echoes, weakly, as the mouth drops lower.  
  
"Licking the plates clean."  
  
"Oh," Gakuto goes, blush rising.   
  
Sometime later, when he's spread out on the dinner table, having been dessert himself and feeling as though he's lifted out of skin and is floating towards the ceiling, Gakuto laughs, breathlessly.   
  
"What's so funny?" Shishido asks, somewhere near the vicinity of his belly.  
  
Gakuto touches his hair, grins down at him. "I need to tell Jiroh he's a good influence on you."  
  
A snort. "Yeah, make sure to include all details. I'm sure he'll be so happy."  
  
They share a laugh, Shishido's reverberating in his chest and against inside of Gakuto's thighs. Then they start to clean up the mess.  
  
Which Shishido's 'cleaning up' method has only made worse. And stickier.  
  


+++

  
  
There's perks to living alone (the sex, most of all), but also hang-ups. Besides the blood-curdling bills, that is.  
  
Oshitari's there when Gakuto figures out the first one. It was funny the first time, a fluke, a coincidence, but the both of them are watching a movie (Titanic. AGAIN) when it reoccurs.  
  
The singing is atrocious. It starts sudden, no warnings. The both of them jump. The bowl of popcorn scatters across the floor.  
  
Oshitari lifts an eyebrow.  
  
"Fuck," Gakuto says. "Is that bitch for real?" He glares at the wall.  
  
Oshitari blows his nose in a by now soggy tissue. Jack and Rose have sex in the carriage. The moment is kinda ruined.  
  
"Is that your neighbor?" he asks, thickly.  
  
"Yeah," Gakuto says. "Shit."  
  
A short silence. There's a strangled shrill, like a cat getting its tail stepped on.  
  
"Is she in pain?" Oshitari asks.  
  
"Shit," Gakuto mutters. "Shit."  
  
"Trust you guys to rent the apartment next to a failed opera singer. Does she take requests? Maybe her heart will go on and on, as well. If we ask nicely."   
  
"Shut up, Yuushi," he snarls.  
  
  
Later they are in a huge electrical appliances store, looking for a rice cooker. Gakuto carefully does not think about how his father sells them, too, or has perfectly good second hand ones. It doesn't matter. Besides, right now even shopping for a rice cooker is kind of exciting. It's all so new.  
  
He's looking at one he knows he can afford, when Oshitari asks, "So, almost a month. Neither of you have murdered the other. I'd say the future looks promising, ne?"  
  
Tossing him an askance glance, Gakuto mumbles, "Always the tone of surprise."  
  
Oshitari nods, gestures to another promising one. "Well it is you and Ryou, can't hardly expect me to have full confidence in your survival capacities."  
  
"We're doing fine," Gakuto says, cool and controlled. Because everything is. "We even talked about getting a pet."  
  
He doesn't mention the subsequent nurturing of the Tamagotchi. Which is still alive, by the way (go them).  
  
"That's good," Oshitari says, heartfelt. Then he  _looks_  at him.  
  
Gakuto wilts. Stupid bastard. What does he  _know_  anyway?  
  
"We're doing fine," he repeats. They walk further down the aisle. "Ohtori is coming back. Taki says," he chokes out, sudden and strangled. It was meant to be uncaring and blas√© like a comment about how it might rain tomorrow.  
  
A little nod. "Hm, I know. Next week," he says pleasantly.  
  
Gakuto stops breathing. "You knew?"  
  
Oshitari looks at him, blank and unreadable. "It is not as though he was  _gone_  gone. He was on tour. Only a matter of time."  
  
"You fucking shit," Gakuto hisses, under his breath. "You knew and didn't  _warn_  me?"  
  
"Warn you," Oshitari repeats, slowly. "What ever for?"  
  
Holding the box, blocking the gangway and raising his voice in the middle of a public place is plain stupid. It is not that he doesn't know this. Yet this is exactly what he does, nonetheless. "Because it's Ohtori! And you know how Ryou ... how Ryou ... how he ..." he can't say it. Just can't get it past his lips, because it hangs like a barbed wad of insecurity midway down his throat.  
  
"How he feels about him?" Oshitari finishes. He sounds a little distant, kinda flat and bored.  
  
Gakuto nods, teeth bared, feeling childish and petty and still not able to stop himself.  
  
"The same way I feel about you, I imagine," Oshitari adds, then he pulls the box out of Gakuto's contorted hands, walks with it towards the counter.  
  
The last thing he says over his shoulder is:   
  
"You should try and have a little faith in Ryou, Gakuto. He deserves it."  
  
  


+++

  
  
"Ah, you got the rice cooker," Shishido says as he walks into the kitchen. He looks kind of rumpled and wayward, but his hand comes to cup Gakuto's nape and lips land warm and sure on his forehead.  
  
Gakuto looks at him, really looks at him as though by just using his eyes he can drink him up and assuage the itch in his chest. It is such a delicate subject. On one hand he knows he's irrational about it, destructively almost, and knowing he should back off is maddening, because he can't seem to do so.  
  
Shishido tilts his head, wrenches at his tie. "Okay?"  
  
Gakuto nods, slowly. "Yeah," nods some more. "Wanna test it out tonight?"  
  
"Sure," Shishido answers, poking a finger with a tremendously scabby knuckle at it. "Looks like the one we had at home. Oh, I found something- here."  
  
Carefully he extracts a feather out of a side pocket of his rucksack. Gives it to Gakuto.  
  
This, more than anything, does something to Gakuto. The day Shishido first gave him a feather is etched upon his mind's eye. Already, Gakuto had been mindlessly in love with him. It had driven him in a frenzy when they'd gone on training camp in high school. He hated that Shishido sat next to Ohtori on the bus, hated that they spend every single moment together, hated to see them flow seamlessly over the court, hated that they shared a room.  
  
He'd known then. That he was in love. It had been creeping up on him, fluttery bursts of illness, it seemed like. Until they were playing a video game and nudging and pushing and then rolling over the floor until Shishido pinned him. It had been so innocent, they'd been kids, but Gakuto had looked up into that familiar, trusted face and suddenly desperately wished that he'd lean down and kiss him.  
  
After that, after knowing it, it had been like trying to stop breathing.  
  
He'd always liked Ohtori, it was kinda hard not to, but suddenly he was like a towering (literally and figuratively) obstacle. Also, before, Ohtori had just been there. For him he'd almost been easy to overlook (this figuratively), because he never actually needed or had any reason to interact with him.  
  
But after he knew, he most definitely saw how much  _Shishido_  interacted with him. And  _how_.  
  
So when he had climbed a tree at camp late one evening, to sulk, only to be joined by Shishido after a while, he'd felt something in him glow and rise, like the full moon in the night sky. They hadn't talked much, mostly complaints about Atobe and the hot weather, but it had been comfortable. Much too late they'd headed back inside, shivering with cold, and before parting ways Shishido had yanked a decidedly crumpled feather out of his pocket and had given it to him.  
  
He still has that feather. Most likely the most ordinary and damaged one in his collection. He's never even made something with it, not able to figure out how to make it look cool. He doesn't want to, either. He likes that feather just as it is, by itself.  
  
This feather is a beautiful one. Tawny with a golden gleam. Broad at the end, rounded instead of tapered, with downy fluff dusting the quill.  
  
Gakuto takes it, heart flopping around spasmodically in his chest.  
  
Shishido is a bit of an insensitive ass at times. Okay, he's a bit of a lot of an insensitive ass.  
  
But he gets it right when it matters.  
  


+++

  
  
Half the boxes have been unpacked. They still dominate the overall view of the livening room and bedroom, but at least it doesn't feel like they are living in a giant carton box themselves anymore.  
  
For Gakuto some realizations are setting in.   
  
It's not some sort of extended vacation.  
  
Something unclenches, a little, deep inside.  
  
He's responsible. They get a lot of simple things wrong. But that's okay. Shishido might grumble, like he did when the laundry turned baby-blue. But it's okay. He says it, as it is, and then he's good. He doesn't nurse an undercurrent into his attitude that makes him feel as though any moment Gakuto will have to expect the shit to hit the fan.   
  
Also he feels as though he can  _be_. Nobody breathes down his neck, judging and deeming unworthy, always. Gone are the dinners where he sat and concentrated so hard he couldn't even taste his food, because he didn't want to give  _him_  even one window of opportunity to say something. More than often that wouldn't stop  _him_ , despite Gakuto being as perfect and flawless as he knew to be. Always he needed to remind him just how flawed he was, just how different he was, just how not alright at all he was. How much of a disappointment he is.  
  
With Shishido they sit and ... chat. Smile. Laugh.  
  
That's just dinner.  
  
His evenings are no longer spent either a) outside alone, b) outside with friends, or c) squirreled away in his room. Instead he sprawls on the couch and watches TV. Or he'll watch TV, but someone will be holding him. There'll be lips in his hair and arms around him and he'll be warm, so warm, burning like the sun. Other evenings he's doing the holding, Shishido resting against his chest, flirting with dreams.  
  
Now the house is his. He can walk, talk and just  _be_  how he is, just himself with no apologies.  
  
He doesn't need to account for himself.  
  
He's home.  
  
Shishido and this tiny apartment are his reality now.  
  
When he comes home, whatever time of the day, he just comes  _home_. His hours are irregular, but most often he works evenings, except for when they host a reception of sorts. But at midday, late evening, or early morning, it doesn't matter. He's home.  
  
There's no return to a constant tension that never eases. No need to live with the cold touch of unease stroking the back of his neck, no need to check his every word, move or idea.  
  
For Gakuto it is difficult to just accept.  
  
He wants everything clear and set. No ambiguity, no second-guessing. Clear, crisp results. It is something that is not possible. Not to that degree, not in a relationship. As well as he knows Shishido, there's always a wild shred of fear. This is new and strange, volatile and full of surprises.  
  
Yet, sitting there on the couch, doing absolutely nothing useful and stuffing his face with fruit candies, is alright.  
  
Shishido walks by and sort of absentmindedly touches his hair, an unconscious gesture.  
  
Maybe he can accept this.  
  
If he can  _be_ , then he can deal with not knowing either.  
  


+++

  
  
That mindset lasts for a few days. Three days of just feeling content, of breathing and living and gazing at the sky through the huge windows each time he passes by.  
  
Of course, nothing is ever as static as that.  
  
And Gakuto hates not knowing.  
  
"I've taken the day off tomorrow," Shishido says as they clear the table after dinner.  
  
Gakuto starts to smile. He's home tomorrow.  
  
"I'm picking Choutarou up at the airport."  
  
He stops smiling.  
  
Possibly stops breathing as well. He can't tell, he's cold. A shiver races up his spine.  
  
"Gakuto?" Shishido prompts.  
  
"Aa," he mumbles. "Sure. Okay."  
  
It's not okay at all.  
  


+++

  
  
That night he doesn't sleep. Staring up at the ceiling is all he is capable of, wide-eyed and stomach in knots. Shishido is a human rag with limbs in all directions and a chin poking into Gakuto's arm. Shishido's skin is a little damp as he perspires under the thick comforter, while Gakuto's toes feel like icy nubs attached to his body.  
  
He lays there, mind running in useless circles, with only one exclamation mark blaring in the middle of it: Ohtori's coming back.  
  
When Shishido's alarm vomits rock music into the delicate light of early dawn, Gakuto closes his eyes and pretends to sleep. Feels Shishido shift, before sitting up. Stumbling around after getting out of bed, as he dresses. Before he leaves the room, Gakuto feels him come closer, senses him stand at his side of the bed. Fingers tuck a lock of hair away from his forehead and then there's retreating footsteps. More clattering about, punctuated with grumbles and curses. Finally, the slam of the front door.  
  
Gakuto opens his eyes.  
  


+++

  
  
All day, he unpacks boxes.  
  
The heather is blasting heat at his back. The window is open and fresh, sky-free air rushes in. The bill will be spectacular.  
  
Gakuto opens a box.   
  
Photo albums. His. The pages are stiff carton, unwieldy. His mother loves this sort of thing. She's made these for all three of them, his sister, him and kid brother. The pictures are typical. Horrific baby pictures, embarrassing toddler and pre-teen pictures, awkward teenager pictures. Special occasions, festivals, family outings. In some of them, the earlier ones, his father is holding him.  
  
Gakuto remembers. Once he and his father could spend all day tucked away in his workspace. He likes electronics. Logical. Steady, set answers. You start at the beginning, but you know before you finish what result you'll have. He appreciates that, just as his father did. Bend over something bulging with wires and wheels, something broken, his father'd show him. How to fix it. And he did, he  _could_. It was something they shared.   
  
There are rather a lot of pictures of him and his father together.  
  
Once he got into middle school, they lessen. In his third year, they are sporadic and they'll be at opposite sides of the frame.  
  
He doesn't know what went wrong.  
  
Something did.  
  
Maybe it  _is_  him.  
  
Because he refused to work as he should have. Did everything awry and dreamed wild dreams. Fell in love with another boy and chose a sport he wasn't all that good in. Wanted wings, wanted to fly, wanted to cast off as much weight until his feet were as fleet as could be, never wings but close. He'd had a biting humor and strange friends, liked dancing. Picked up feathers until they were all over his room.   
  
Aimless.  
  
Even now.  
  
A bartender.   
  
No talents to speak of, and the few he has, useless.  
  
Somehow he's ended up here, with Shishido.  
  
Even that path was shaky and sudden, reckless like Shishido can be: ' _I spotted this ad for an apartment. Interested?_ ' Just that. A whim, almost.  
  
Shishido is ... without him ... even coherent thoughts fail him. It's like a blank wall.  
  
All this time Shishido was like a small inferno razing through his life, he a scrap of paper pulled along in the flurry of his passing. Without him making a mess of it all, making him not know and wonder and feel like this ...  
  
What the hell will he do?  
  


+++

  
  
Shadows are blending out into general twilight when his mobile rings.  
  
Without wanting to look, he snatches at it. Flips it open.  
  
"Where are you?" Shishido snaps.   
  
Gakuto blinks, then glares. Not that Shishido can see, but there's no need to take that tone with him when he's out cavorting with his old doubles partner. "Where do ya think, genius?"  
  
"I wouldn't be asking if I knew," Shishido bites back. "Did something happen?" The last is still as sharp, but edged differently.  
  
"What are you talking about?" Gakuto asks. "I'm at home. Where the hell else would I be?"  
  
There's a perplexed silence. Noise and laughter filters through. Someplace with a lot of people.  
  
"That's great Gakuto," Shishido says, tired sudden. "Thanks for listing to what I was saying last night."  
  
With that, he hangs up.  
  
Gakuto is still staring at his phone when it starts ringing again. Jiroh's name blinks on the screen. It already has rung a few times before he thinks of picking it up.  
  
"Gakuto!" Jiroh hollers into the receiver. "Ryou is pissed off."  
  
"What else is new," he mutters. "What is it, what is going on?" The same sort of noises filter through. He can hear, like a fist around his heart, Shishido laugh. "Where are you guys?"  
  
"At Choutarou's welcome back ... er,  _thing_ , Atobe threw of course." Jiroh says rather slowly, as though Gakuto just asked him how to swing his racket. "He's also pissed, by the way. That you didn't come."  
  
Gakuto feels a sinking sensation. Crap. That just figures. He was so busy sulking and freaking about not knowing and stupid Ohtori being back that he might have reverted to basic male-survival mode i.e. creating vague agreeable noises when spoken to. And Shishido had done a lot of speaking.  
  
Likely these involved instructions and such about this party Atobe pulled out of his ass, as well as places and times and other details. You know, somewhere amidst the generous amount of 'Ohtori this and that and whatever the fuck'.   
  
He groans.  
  
Jiroh snorts, then sighs. "Just get over here already," he says.  
  
After receiving instructions and such, Gakuto dresses into something slightly more respectable before heading out.  
  
It's cold and it's drizzling. The walk to the station isn't that long, but he always gets cold easily and he's freezing by the time he catches a train. The last batch of people is going home and at every stop more of them stow inside.  
  
Gakuto might have grown a little, but he's still as skinny as always. Squeezing into a little niche which would normally fit only someone half his size, he hangs on and stares out the window.  
  
Upon arrival, tucked away as deeply into his jacket as he can be, he instantly lets a tiny amount of tension slither away. It's a modest affair. Judging from the few vehicles he can see (amongst which Shishido's Kawasaki), it's just the old team and maybe some few friends of Ohtori's.  
  
Small mercies.  
  
Oshitari is waiting for him.  
  
"Yuushi," he says. His exhale is a small cloud.  
  
"Our little lost lamb," he says. "Shishido is seriously angry. He was worried."  
  
Gakuto sort of doubts it, especially with Ohtori around to soak up every single drop of his focus.  
  
Together they walk up the steps. Oshitari is dark, silent until his lips part as to suck in air before saying: "Don't you think you should-"   
  
"Telling me what to do, Yuushi?" Gakuto cuts him off.  
  
"Just advice," Oshitari says. "Never mind."  
  
Gakuto deflates. He knows he's being a difficult, unpleasant pest, but it's a part of who he is. It escapes him before he can check himself, ugly and out there for all to see.  
  
"Sorry," he mumbles.   
  
A hand at the small of his back. "Just try."  
  
Nodding, he takes a steadying breath as Oshitari sweeps him through the door, hand herding him along through the hallway and into the parlor Atobe favors for receiving close friends. There's a bubble of silence as they enter, heads turning and conversation dribbling to a stop.   
  
First of all, Gakuto sees Shishido. It's always been like this. He might be tucked away in a corner or standing half-hidden behind someone tall and broad-shouldered like he is now. Yet he's always been the first to catch Gakuto's eye. Shishido looks at him, a smile lingering on his face that melts slowly. In the end all he gets is a chuck of the chin. A silent, ' _Well?_ '.   
  
For a moment they seem to be alone and Gakuto's lips move to say something, not an apology but something different. They haven't really been fighting, but there's something between them, something he can't define and it frustrates him. If he could get Shishido alone, just the two of them, touch him, smell him, press as close as he can, then ...  
  
That train of fancy gets derailed as the tall and broad-shoulder someone turns around to look at him, too. "Mukahi-san!" Ohtori says. "It's good to see you! I hope it wasn't of any inconvenience to come here so sudden. I told Atobe-san not to bother, but ..." he shrugs, grins a little.  
  
Gakuto forces a smile back. "It's alright. Just a slight communication malfunction. Sorry I'm late."  
  
"Not at all," Ohtori says, smiling warmly back. Genuinely happy to see him.  
  
Dammit. That's the worst part. As long as he isn't around Gakuto can mold him into some vague entity to blame all his insecurities on, get some anger redirected out of his system. It's rather impossible when he suddenly realizes he's kind of missed seeing him.  
  
He's a twisted little shit, isn't he?  
  
"You bet," Oshitari says behind him.  
  
Gakuto doesn't ask. That's just Oshitari. Knowing one other through and through is all nice, but it makes for creepy moments like these. Seeing as Gakuto's acclimated to Oshitari's general creepiness, he isn't fazed anymore. Just annoyed.  
  
"Shut up," he mutters.  
  
"Anything for you, Gakuto," Oshitari says and drifts away towards his next victim. Hiyoshi.   
  
That leaves him alone and a little lost. He wanders towards the drinks, grabs one. Looks around.  
  
Ohtori's turned back to Shishido. The former says something, quiet and severe. Shishido tilts his head, answers, looking straight into Ohtori's eyes, unabashed. They share a smile, Shishido's wonderfully lopsided and mischievous, Ohtori's more subtle, private.  
  
He's just told Oshitari he'd  _try_  (not really, but he didn't object it) and already he feels something raw roar within him to see the two of them together. And he hasn't even been -what, five minutes?- in the room.  
  
He's always wondered.  
  
If, somewhere deep inside, Shishido hasn't wished to wake up next to Ohtori, instead of him. If he has, than Gakuto just knows that he's not even doing half a good job of being 'second best'. Basically Ohtori is everything he  _isn't_. He isn't tall, or broad, doesn't have long, defined legs like he does, doesn't have the same hair color, eye color, temperament, ambition, hobbies, tastes, talents, kick-ass job, salary, strength, kindness, generosity, facial-structure, mouth, hands,  _nothing_ , nothing at all.  
  
And even if he gave up everything to try and be, he just couldn't.  
  
Needless to say, it's a horrible evening.  
  
Jiroh joins him, manages to draw a fleeting smile out of him once and then. Other than that he's the one to chat the silence away, as he's able to in long rambling narratives that tumble into one topic after another, creating for a highly confusing mix of seemingly unrelated subjects. Gakuto understands perfectly, though. Years of practice.  
  
Across the room, Oshitari gives him  _the look_.  
  
Gakuto rather ignores them both.  
  
It's like an car-accident, looking makes him feel all sort of not okay, but he can't  _not_  look.  
  
All he wants is to stomp over there in his one-hundred sixty-six tall glory, grab the lapels of Ohtori's shirt (that looks much too good on him, the bastard) and scream like a shrill schoolgirl in his face that Shishido is HIS and his only and that they can take it outside to settle it if he thinks otherwise.   
  
Irrational and highly chock-full of stupid though that plan is, considering Ohtori would only have to sneeze at him to declare victory. But he'd try. Vigorously.   
  
So he stands there, glowering like a small thundercloud, trying to spontaneously mutate so he can shoot laser beams from his eyes. Mostly he makes himself miserable.  
  
Worst of all is that he knows Shishido sees it, from the dark flash of eyes in his direction and is getting possibly even irate than he already was. None of which will particularly help Gakuto, of course.  
  
It's not even midnight when he hears a snatch of Ohtori saying: "-exhausted, I'm sorry."  
  
Shishido nods, brows worried. "Yeah, I figured. C'mon, I'll walk you to the door."  
  
Yes, he knows: there's something very wrong with him that he can't stop himself from sneaking out of the parlor almost immediately after. It's wrong and simply pathetic, but he does it nonetheless. The house is mostly in darkness, but for a few strategically lighted lamps lighted to guide them.  
  
By the door the both of them halt.  
  
"Hope you didn't mind too much. You know how Atobe is," Shishido says, an eye-roll in his words.  
  
A soft chuckle. "I was prepared for a long day. It's okay. It was nice. I'm-" he trails off. "I'm glad to be back."  
  
They move. Gakuto thinks he'll be a solid ice sculpture if he keeps watching any longer. They embrace and freezing cold spreads outward from his spine.  
  
"I'm glad you are back," Shishido answers, gruffly. After a pat on his back, he draws away.  
  
Ohtori shakes his head. "Never want to be gone for that long again, I was so happy to get on that plane home."  
  
"Good to hear that," Shishido says under his breath, heartfelt.  
  
What they then exchange is not words, but a certain of expression. After which Ohtori leaves, smiling. Shishido watches him go, leaning against the doorframe. Then he turns.  
  
Looks right at him. "Happy now, huh?" he snarls.  
  
Gakuto's heart leaps into his throat. He'd thought himself cleverly tucked out of sight, behind a marble pillar with a bust on it. Before he can react, Shishido is upon him. A fist in the front of his shirt, bodily hauling him closer.  
  
A kiss wasn't what he was expecting, but it is what he gets. Although with all the savage force behind it he might as well have punched him. It's raw and full of teeth, plundering him of his senses, leaving his mouth a ravaged, burning mess when he draws back.   
  
The hand uncurls from his shirt and Gakuto all but stumbles into the wall.  
  
They look at one other. Despite the numb feeling on his mouth, a stamp of his anger, Shishido doesn't look angry. He looks very frail and tired suddenly.   
  
"Sometimes," he whispers, "I wonder who the hell I'm trying for."  
  
With that he grabs his coat and disappears through the open door.   
  
Gakuto hangs on to the wall, blinks stupidly.  
  
"You," Oshitari says suddenly as he pops out of nowhere like a phantom, nearly sending Gakuto into cardiac arrest "Are a fool."  
  
"I-"   
  
Oshitari silences him with the curl of his lip. "If you have any common sense, you're going to fly that pert little ass of yours over there, pronto."  
  
"But-"  
  
Another look.  
  
"Another piece of advice," he tells him in a low murmur, like silk rubbing down the center of his chest. "I also advise you to take it, this time."  
  
He does.  
  


+++

  
  
Luck's with him. He catches a train just as he arrives at the station, skidding to a halt by running into a fellow hopeful passenger.  
  
He arrives home half an hour later, out of breath and completely shaken-up. His hair is all over the place, his face heated and his clothes are flapping wildly around him. Especially after running  _all_  those floors up. Because it was him who wanted the apartment the highest up. Quite literally falling through the door of his apartment, he stumbles inside, hanging onto the doorknob for support.  
  
All the commotion makes Shishido rush out of the kitchen, but upon taking one look at him, he disappears again.  
  
Gakuto finds him sitting at the kitchen table, wearing only pajama pants. There's a steaming mug of tea between his white-knuckled hands.  
  
"Aren't you cold?" Gakuto asks. His voice is strangled and it is an inane thing to ask, seeing as Shishido's skin is pricked into goosebumps, his nipples hard.  
  
He tries not to stare.  
  
Shishido sighs, looks at him. It takes Gakuto aback, it is one of pure helplessness and ... resignation.   
  
"I'm sorry," Gakuto blurts, because he thinks this might be the right thing to say.  
  
It isn't. Brows crest and there's a scowl so fierce Shishido's nose scrunches with it. "What for? Spying on me?"  
  
"I shouldn't have-"  
  
A chair clatters with violence backwards as Shishido surges up. "You don't fucking get it, do you? I don't care about what you saw. There was nothing to see. For all I cared you could have been standing right next to us, filming, and I wouldn't have cared. What I care about is that you felt that you needed to watch. Because- Because-" he trails off, leaning on the tabletop and hanging his head. Dark hair fans down.  
  
"What?" Gakuto prompts, not understanding.  
  
"Because it means you don't trust me!" Shishido yells, pounding his fist into the table.  
  
There's a shocked silence. Gakuto gulps air. "I trust you," he says, hoarse and small.  
  
"You fucking don't!" Shishido says, loud enough to wake the whole floor still, but at least not enough to wake the whole block. "I can't even speak his name and you freeze on me."  
  
"Who- I-"   
  
"Choutarou!" Shishido growls.  
  
Gakuto flinches.  
  
"See!" There's an unnatural sort of victory in his face. "I can't even say his name and you'll ... you'll  _look_  at me like that."  
  
"Like what?" Gakuto demands. "Look at you like what?"  
  
Shishido opens his mouth, closes it. In the artificial light of the kitchen he looks pale. His ribs paint shallow shadows on his sides. His nipples are dark aureoles, his navel a dark tear-shaped dot in the middle of his belly, his hips stick out. His eyes flicker and his lips part, but don't speak.  
  
"Look at you like what?" Gakuto repeats.  
  
Dark eyes travel towards the night sky that peeks through the window. After long moments, he looks back. "Like there's no us."  
  
Gakuto feels his heart stutter, painful hiccoughs. "Of course there is."  
  
"They why can't you trust me?" Shishido asks.  
  
For the first time, Gakuto realizes just how deeply hurt Shishido is. That upsets him. He should be soothing, reassuring, but instead he begins to try and justify himself, why he acts like an immature brat.  
  
"You don't notice how it looks," Gakuto says. His throat feels like sandpaper, his eyes burn. "How the two of you look. You're so close and I-"  
  
"He's my best friend," Shishido says, bland.  
  
"It's different," Gakuto insists. "You two have this whole ... little world, all by yourselves and nobody can have a part of it. And you ... you touch and you listen to his music. You hate classical music."  
  
That seems to seriously take him aback. For a moment Gakuto feels like he's made a point, the golden argument, but then Shishido says: "What about you and Yuushi, then?"  
  
"What? What's got Yuushi to do with this?" he snarls.  
  
"There's a lot of things you only do with Yuushi. You have your own private jokes, don't even always need to finish your sentences. He touches you all the time. Heck, he  _flirts_  with you. And you've got all of his trashy romance novels. You still do sleepovers and he's often here the whole day when I'm working," Shishido explains. "It makes me jealous, sometimes, yeah. But I trust you. It's okay. He's your best friend."   
  
That is the golden argument. Gakuto is at loss for words. Instead Shishido picks up his chair and slumps on it, exhausted. Gakuto joins him, steals his mug and sips from it.  
  
"Yuushi flirts with everybody," he offers after a some time. "It doesn't mean anything. We're just friends."  
  
Shishido nods, slowly. "I know," he responds, matter-of-factly.  
  
Right now he feels like the biggest ass ever. He can't even give him solid or redeeming reasons. He reaches over the space between them, takes one of Shishido's hands. It's a cold claw. He turns it and laces their fingers.  
  
"I'm afraid of losing you," he says.  
  
"That's dumb," Shishido counters instantly. Tactless and completely heedless of disrupting the moment.  
  
Nonetheless, he ploughs on. "Without you ..."  
  
"Stuff it," Shishido says. "You don't get it. I'm here. That's all."  
  
"But-"  
  
"No!" Shishido insists. " _This_  is real. It took me ages before I had enough money to get our flat. I wanted to get you out faster, but I just didn't have ..." he shakes his head.  
  
"Ryou ..."  
  
"This is your home now," he says it like a command, as though he can will Gakuto to understand. "With me."  
  
Gakuto isn't breathing.  
  
"I'm your family," he finishes.  
  
  
After that, Gakuto stops thinking. It hasn't been doing him much good anyway.  
  
The first time, it's on the kitchen chair. Shishido's hands are warm on his waist and Gakuto cradles his head against his chest. It's a long, slow outpouring of apology. It feels good, it feels like coming home.  
  
But he already is.  
  
He only just realizes it.  
  
  
  


+++

  
  
  
After the third time or the fourth, he's lost count, they do end up in bed. It's atrociously early in the morning by then.  
  
Shishido is a dead-weight hogging the blankets, tucked up close against Gakuto with his head pillowed on his chest.  
  
Tired doesn't even begin to describe it. His body is utterly spend and over-sensitized. His eyes are heavy. There's nothing more beautiful than seeing Shishido's face in sleep, how vulnerable and trusting he can be, the way he always seeks closeness.   
  
He's been an idiot.   
  
He can't know everything.  
  
He doesn't need to, not anymore.  
  
When he has this, he just doesn't need to.  
  
He closes his eyes. Sleeps crawls like physical wave up his body.  
  
Something beeps, plaintive and sharp.  
  
Shishido groans, smushes his face into Gakuto's armpit.  
  
"What the hell ...?" Gakuto moans, arm flapping at his clock.  
  
It's not his clock. Instead he finds something semi-round, smooth.  
  
Then he realizes it. What with all his freaking out about a great big heap of nothing and sulking ... he's forgot to feed his Tamagotchi. The little pixelated dinosaur has pooped all over the screen and is yapping to be fed, cleaned, played with and tucked in.  
  
"Still want a pet?" Shishido grumbles.  
  
Gakuto laughs, wry. After a moment Shishido does, too.  
  
The last thing Gakuto does before he goes to sleep, at four thirty in the morning, is hold his sleeping boyfriend while he gives his Tamagotchi a bath.  
  
It's not perfect.  
  
But it works.  
  
  
  


_-fin-_


End file.
